


Shiori Spider

by Staffen



Series: Kawarimonogatari [2]
Category: Bakemonogatari
Genre: F/M, Gen, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Lies, Money, Paranormal, Supernatural Elements, Suspense, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2019-11-13 15:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18034709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staffen/pseuds/Staffen
Summary: "This is a story that hurts to retell. But that too might just be a lie."Having freshly resolved a mysterious disappearance (and having also freshly escaped the authorities), the dashing rogue Kaiki Deishuu finds himself once again jeopardized after a chance run-in with yet another old friend in Tokyo...(Pt. 2 of Kawarimonogatari [Substitute Story].)





	1. 001

“What is the spider’s greatest tool?”

I was recently asked such a question.

It’s the sort of thing you ask only in a rhetorical sense — a humble plea for the listener’s consent to continue.

This sort of question is typically followed by a lecture.

At my age, in my position, the number of situations in which I find myself the recipient of such a speech rather than the lecturer themselves has been steadily on the decline. And for good reason: the question itself is rather like a snare to slow you down; a web, to waste your time.

“Do you know what it is?”

Once again I was asked.

I don’t like having my time wasted, you know.

But anyway, the question itself is too presumptive. In the first place you ought to begin by asking, “What is a spider?” Of course this is the sort of thing where, even if you ask a child, the response back will be perfectly serviceable:

A spider is an eight-legged little arthropod with venomous fangs, a chitinous exoskeleton and, most characteristically, the ability to spin entrapping webs from their abdomens. They are separate from yet often confused for insects, which are their most typical source of nutrition. The archetypal image of the spider is one of an ensnared insect, struggling for its life as numerous, glossy, bone-like appendages reach out for the latest meal.

It’s a childish question. Of course you know what a spider is.

You’ve probably seen plenty throughout your life.

Odds are, you’ve probably been terrified by a spider in your life.

For the most part, however, spiders have no interest in humans; it might be more appropriate to say they want nothing to do with us. And most people want nothing to do with spiders; their glossy little bodies with their long, narrow limbs are simultaneously alien and also distressingly familiar to us — like dead fingers outstretched to grasp at our very lives.

Is this fear innate in our mammalian psychology, or is it trained? I wonder. After all, whereas the total species of spider in the world numbers in the tens of thousands, the number of spiders which actually pose a threat to humans can probably be counted on two hands… probably. It’s not as if we are under threat of a spider invasion, either: for their part, spiders avoid people as much if not more than people avoid spiders. One will be attacked for trespassing in the territory of a wolf or a bear; but you can count on less than a single hand the number of spiders which will do anything besides cower or hide or even outright abandon their nests should a human come trampling through. Getting a spider to bite you takes an exquisite amount of either ignorance or malice. Interactions between humans and spiders are accidental; they do not seek us out, yet they unwittingly enter our dwellings out of convenience or necessity. When the nights turn cold, one naturally seeks warm shelter. It only just so happens that shelter is often already occupied.

All of this is to say that we fail to understand spiders.

Yes, I admire them.

I also sympathize with them.

Nobody really understands me.

But I like it that way.

I think they like it that way, too. I imagine that spiders also benefit in some ways from this misunderstanding. I know I certainly do. If your presence puts people in a state of unease they will naturally avoid you.

But it seems that there are those who are fascinated with that which convention tells them they should avoid; people who admire the macabre for reasons wholly different from my pragmatism. There exist people who like spiders for what they are: carnivorous builders who often cleverly trap their prey with ingenious contraptions.

Good for them, I think. Good for the spiders, also.

The lesson for you here is that there’s always someone out there who will accept you, not just in spite of your idiosyncrasies but because of them.

I, however, am not one such person.

In case you need reminding, I am not the kind of guy who can see past someone’s failings, the weak points of their personality, and find something worth admiring. My admiration for spiders is only skin-deep; I like that they are treated with apprehension, because I myself wish to be avoided and ignored; nothing more, nothing less.

You shouldn’t expect much more from me than that.

I am, after all, a fraud.

Yet, frustratingly, it seems there are people who are eager to seek out a fraud such as me. In a way, it’s rather like the bird which makes a delicacy out of snatching up spiders.

I am being preyed upon by the affection of others.

Anyway, the question —

The rhetorical question.

The question which begs you relinquish the right to answer back to the speaker.

And what is that answer?…

“It’s time.”

Time.

Time, explained Saitomi Shiori, is the spider’s most powerful tool.

In a world where the average lifespan is measured in months, weeks, or even hours, where every other living thing is in a perpetual scramble to escape the relentless pursuit of entropy, the spider patiently spins its web. It is the spider which plants itself in a dusty corner and waits for a meal to come its way.

It does not matter how fast you are; how clever you are; how strong you are —

— Time shall inevitably outpace you.

Eventually you’ll be caught in the web.

In this way, spiders exhibit a greater patience than we human beings; humans, who possess some of the more impressive lifespans in the animal kingdom. There are spiders in the world which can live for decades, but their limits are paltry besides the average ability of a human to stick it out. Yet, for all the time we live, we urge one-another into a state of panic. The life of a spider is too slow for the human; better to scurry about like the gnats, desperate for scraps by which to sate our needs.

We fear death.

But the spider,

The spider just goes on spinning its webs.

They’ll go on spinning those webs until the end.

Truly, I admire spiders.

Having said this, let me spin a new web for you — a web of lies and truths and half-truths.

Allow me to tell you the story of a spider.

That is, a story of how a spider came to be.

It’s a story about time.

And it’s the story of how I cursed Saitomi Shiori with a spider’s fate.

Step any further and you risk being trapped in my web.

I think it bears repeating that this is not an appropriate, official story.

It hardly even qualifies as an apt substitute, all things considered.

But as certainly as my name is Kaiki Deishū, I can tell you that nobody deserved the outcome they received in this story.

This is a story that hurts to retell.

But that too might just be a lie.


	2. 002

In late August I was in Tokyo — rather, I’d been in Tokyo for a couple weeks by that point. For the sake of my privacy, and for my clients’ privacy, I won’t make reference to precisely which wards of the greater metropolitan area I had been skulking. The point is I was in the capital.

Although, I suppose I can say without issue that, at the exact moment described, I was in Chūō — specifically, in Ginza.

Strictly speaking I was not in Ginza on business, although when you’re in my line of work there’s no such thing as _“not on business.”_ Of course that sort of remark would beg the question, _“Just what exactly is your line of work, anyway?”_ If asked such a thing by a stranger I would have no choice but to reply, _“None,”_ as in, _“I have no line of work,”_ as in, _“I am, on technicality, an unemployed person,”_ because, _“I am unemployable.”_ But that’s a story over which we’ve already meandered previously.

Anyway.

I was in Ginza. It was morning. I was having coffee and a light snack.

I know what you’re thinking.

 _“Kaiki, you daft old man,”_ you’re probably saying as you shake your head in disgust and disbelief, _“How many times are we going to have to watch you be caught in a café?”_

Aha, well, the answer to that would be far more times than you are already aware. Throughout my life I have frequented these sorts of establishments and in the course of doing so I have been ambushed for conversation, attacked by former clientele, approached to sign petitions, handed flyers, and I’ve made underhanded dealings with teenagers… on more than one occasion, I’ve even received someone else’s order and had to awkwardly exchange words with some wide-eyed student or tired salaryman to correct the mistake.

You might think I am deserving of some medal for courage, having continued to give patronage to the country’s coffee shops and cafés despite this heinous reputation they hold for mischief in our literature; but I would have to almost shamefully admit part of the reason I visit them is for the thrill of that risk to my person. Maybe somewhere, deep down, I still hear the café calling out to me. _“The horror, the horror!”_ I cry, but perhaps a part of Kaiki Deishū was lost when he left the corner booth of that coffeehouse so long ago, and perhaps to this day he still seeks to reunite with it.

I’m being facetious. Or maybe I’m not.

I drank my coffee.

I read the morning news and did some quick accounting.

I ate my pastries.

I disposed of the waste.

I did all of this without so much as bumping into anyone.

I walked out the doors of that street corner parlor, no problems. No interruptions. Not a soul so much as looked at me — me, of all people — in even a funny way, or a mean way, or even in a sad way.

I must confess I was a little disappointed.

Almost.

Not really.

Not at all, actually.

Perhaps I felt like tempting fate in that exact moment, because I walked towards the curb and then stopped to check my phone. I’d missed three calls while I’d been eating, it seemed. Two of them had left messages. One of those was probably a call from some autodialer in the mainland or somewhere. I had no interest in hearing the other message, however. In fact, two of the three missed calls had been from the source of that second message. How annoying.

So having decided to ignore my missed calls, I checked my contacts and thought carefully about what evil little deeds I would commit during the afternoon…

Just kidding. But by this point I’d already been baiting dramatic cliché at the corner for close to fifteen minutes. I was in no rush.

Really, no rush —

“Well, well, if it isn’t Kaiki Deishū!”

 _Time’s up,_ declared the universe.

I knew exactly who was addressing me so informally, so loudly, as if I was out of place standing at that street corner at that time of day and that time of year. I would recognize that rough Kansai dialect anywhere.

I took a solid second to brace myself before I finally looked over my shoulder:

Further down the curb behind me was a fully enclosed subway entrance.

Atop that enclosure, Kagenui Yozuru was perched like a hawk.

My former classmate.

My former associate.

She’s become quite a famous exorcist in her own right.

Relaxedly squatting on top of public property, as if that were where she belonged.

“Oi, Kaiki-kun. How the hell are you?”

What exactly does a person do in a situation like this?

Oh, right. Greetings are in order under such circumstances.

But still, she’s playing that “floor is lava” game.

How am I supposed to be seen talking to you like this?

Never in a million years did I expect to meet Kagenui Yozuru here.

I’ll grant you — statistically speaking, you’re more likely to run into her than you are Oshino.

But statistically speaking, you’re also more likely to be hit by a truck than you are to run into any particular random person. At least I think you are, anyway; I don’t exactly have any exact mathematics to back that up.

Well, in a way, Kagenui Yozuru is not unlike a truck in that being hit by her will cause severe physical trauma. So I suppose if you also lump an encounter with her into the category of “accidental bodily harm” then it boosts the odds of an encounter occurring.

In other words, she’s a dangerous person.

In the west, the word of law tends to describe damage committed by natural disasters as an “act of god.” Mind you, I only know of the phrase “act of god” as a way of denying insurance payouts to victims of said acts. Regardless, I suspect being struck by Kagenui would be considered an act of god.

She’s always been the sort who epitomizes the way of the world;

The perfect specimen of a lawful being.

To be punched by her is as natural as being smashed by a tsunami.

Normally I’m not the sort to scowl at an old friend, but things being as they have been lately I’m on edge. I’ve been approached a lot by old friends in the last year or so — and I can count on one finger the number of times it’s gone well for me.

Zero times, actually.

_What the hell do you want from me?_

Finally I returned her greeting: “It’s been a while.”

I almost forgot to add, “Kagenui Yozuru.”

Somehow, this got a laugh out of her. _Hyaha!_

Why? Was it the way I said that? Or is she aware of how absolutely stupid she looks right now?

Faced with this, I want to walk away.

She slapped her knee. “Kaiki-kun, always at the cow’s tail, you are!”

I’m at the what?

“That’s right typical.” She grinned, presumably reminiscing. “I’m wagering you put Saitomi Shiori through that dreich treatment last month, too.”

Truly, I’m glad everyone in the industry is now aware of all affairs concerning me and my ex.

I probably have Gaen to thank for this.

“What are you doing here?” I almost asked.

Instead I remarked, “I’m surprised to see you here, Kagenui. Last I heard you were punching endangered animals up at the North Pole, or something. Had I known you were back in Japan I would have at least tried to welcome you.”

“Don’t think you can cheek me, you chancer! You’ve been awful small lately since you chored off of Gaen-senpai. Think she sent me after your head, do you? It’s no great task to ken you’re loathe to see my likes.”

I’m starting to think nobody stopped and considered how horrendous this sounds when your Kansai dialect is localized in this way. Why did your character turn out like this?

Am I being subjected to this because I called your accent “suspect?”

“To answer your question though, Kaiki-kun, I’m not long for Tokyo. I’ve business on the mainland ere long. Just happens I was in the city.”

“Is that so…”

By this point I was convinced something wasn’t right. Kagenui and I, and Oshino as well for that matter — the three of us tend to steer clear of one another’s business. I would say with good reason; we’ve simply grown into very different people.

Hm. If I had to put it one way, it’s less that we aren’t friends anymore so much as we’d prefer that we didn’t stop being friends. That’s a nice way of describing it. But in reality, even before everything that happened between Gaen and me, we’d split up. The band is no longer together. Maybe we’ll have a reunion tour someday…

As if that would happen. Maybe in another timeline.

“Well, I say ‘business on the mainland’ but it’s more hoaching around Europe than anything else.”

“Really, now? Look at you, Kagenui. Traveling all the way to the West. You’ve become quite the important person. I’ve not been out of the country, but they say you should try to get some sleep on flights westbound. You can have that bit of advice for free.”

“Hyaha, Kaiki-kun, I truly appreciate it! Put me in your debt, you have. But Kaiki-kun — Kaiki, I think you’ve guessed by now I’m not around for a blether.”

I was getting a call at that moment. I chose to ignore it.

“Ah, but surely we can go sit someplace for a while, can’t we? It’s truly been so long since we had a chance to talk.” I pointed my thumb at the coffee parlor. “I was just eating here, actually, if you want to step inside this shop here —”

“I’ll pass. In the first place, there’s no way for me to even enter the building.”

“So there isn’t…”

The only entrance was at ground-level. Looking at where she was, she had no way to enter without her feet touching the ground at some point, and that wasn’t happening.

I wonder — how exactly does she manage to eat? Maybe she just gets Yotsugi to pick up carryout for her.

My phone started ringing again.

Kagenui tilted her head. “Why not answer your phone already?”

“I’ve been getting calls all morning.” That wasn’t false. “I’m sure it’s just a telemarketer.”

My phone stopped ringing.

Then, _buzz buzz,_ and I had another voicemail.

“Really, Kaiki-kun. You oughtn’t be so eager to patch out people who take the time to call you. If you weren’t being such a sleekit little weasel to get ahold of, then I’d not have to come all this way after you.”

Oh no.

“Then, the reason you’re here right now…”

My phone rang.

“Aye. The reason I’m here right now, Kaiki-kun, is that Saitomi Shiori wants to see you.”

Well,

How to put this?

I’m terribly sorry,

But it seems, without thinking things through,

Acting quite instinctively,

I ran.

I retreated from that conversation.

It would be more appropriate to say I bolted down the street.

“Oi, Kaiki!” Kagenui shouted after me. “Where are you going?”

_As far from you as I can get._

The light at the street corner was, fortuitously, red in the direction farthest from Kagenui. By my reckoning there was nowhere for her to jump except clear across the street, and it was a four-lane street with room for a turning lane. The gap was enormous. There were street lamps along the sidewalk but the closest one to where she stood was, in fact, on the opposite side of the subway entrance on which she stood.

I thought myself safe.

Of course, I hadn’t considered the cars stopped at the light. I hadn’t thought to anyway; they were so far from the subway enclosure that I assumed she couldn’t make the jump.

Wrong. Kagenui Yozuru is a human being in name only. Her athletic prowess might not carry her clear across the street but _somehow,_ she managed to make the distance to the first car hood from that subway entrance in a single bound, presumably backing up for a running start.

That running start gave me a brief advantage over her in terms of distance. But Kagenui Yozuru was now loose on Ginza, all limiters removed. Her objective: capture Kaiki Deishū.

I’m very proud of my sprint. But this woman can really jump. Come to think of it she has really long legs; so, maybe I’d still be in trouble if she chose to run on foot.

I was in danger. Got to try anyway.

“Kaiki!” she shouted after me. From how her voice shifted pitch between syllables I gathered she was mid-jump. I glanced back and sure enough she was on top of a street light by this point, halfway through the action of springing to the one directly behind me at that exact moment.

Too close.

I quickly cut a left at the next intersection, hoping the change of direction would put her off-balance enough to give me some distance. I underestimated my former classmate, however: I couldn’t quite tell without looking back, but she must have jumped from the light and then bounded off the wall of the building on my right.

There was a truck parked along the side of the road. She landed on that, and sprinted across its back. I meanwhile took a right at the corner, down into a one-and-a-half lane stretch, again hoping against hope the sharp turn would disrupt her momentum.

But she, she leapt from the truck going wide-left, onto a far smaller, more traditional style of lamp post.

Oh, shit, there were more posts along either side of the path I took.

Desperate, I cut down a narrow alleyway with an open service door. The wall surfaces on either side were smooth; nowhere for Kagenui to jump.

At the end of that pathway, however, was a fence with some plumbing running through a slot, about a foot off the ground. I had no idea where Kagenui was at this point, so I made the choice to hop from the pipeline, over the fencing, into the corridor on the other side.

I grunted when I landed. Man, I’m getting old, huh. Had to stop for a solid couple of seconds.

But behind and above me I could hear heels clicking and clacking. Kagenui was on the roof of the building behind me. I booked it right again, effectively now returning back the way I came, through a cramped passage of shuttered and empty storefronts. Kagenui was right above me, now, hopping the vents, ready to pounce.

“Stop running, Kaiki!” she shouted.

I had no intention of doing so.

But as I turned the corner again, left this time, back onto that original street,

“Deishun!”

There, on the sidewalk, clinging to one of the lamp posts off which Kagenui had leapt, as if she depended on it for support —

— None other than Saitomi Shiori.

Suddenly, I felt nostalgic. Like I’d done something not unlike this sometime in the past. It was enough to make me stop.

Oh, that’s right.

I did run from you, didn’t I, Saitomi?

Well, the lesson for me here is that I can’t run from things forever.

But I’ve already given that lesson before, huh…

“Deishun,” wheezed Saitomi, as if she’d been part of that pursuit. “Thank goodness you’re here!”

Her phone was in her hand, a finger on the call button.

Kagenui had landed just above me, on a business overhang.

“You need to stop running, Kaiki-kun,” she said, bluntly. “Saitomi needs to talk to you.”

“About what? ”

In my pocket, my phone was ringing once again.

She’d been trying to call me all morning.

Why?

Saitomi smiled, as if she were about to speak.

Looked like she was trying to mouth that tedious pet name at me.

But then she fell to her knees.

Bumped her head against the street post in the process.

“Kaiki,” said Kagenui,

“Saitomi is dying.”


	3. 003

I met both Saitomi Shiori and Kagenui Yozuru back in college. Once again, in the interest of maintaining privacy (mine, this time around) I shall refrain from explaining exactly what institution we attended and where. If you’re particularly enthusiastic about Kagenui’s long list of exploits as a modern-day _onmyōji_ then it’s likely you’re already well aware of her _alma mater._

I’ve heard she has quite the fanclub.

I get it. If you want her to step on you then I understand completely.

Really, though, I’m not sure the word _onmyōji_ properly fits her occupation.

I’ve made earlier allusions to her nature consisting less of a being and more of a force. These are not far off the mark of prior assertions and perspectives conveyed by my former senpai and others.

True, Kagenui Yozuru has a sizable knowledge of mysticism. Also true, she can be relied upon to independently assess and solve problems diplomatically. I’m aware that she is not just endlessly violent.

Despite everything, no matter what it seems, I do think highly of her.

Our relationship must seem very strange to outsiders.

That’s because it is, mind you, but we are still, after a fashion, friends.

However,

I must say,

Diplomatic resolutions are not her specialty.

Just as peace is, in this modern world absorbed in cynical _Realpolitik,_ something which we maintain in part with the knowledge that there hangs by a thread a sword’s point directly over us, where weapons are brandished in peacetime as a constant reminder of the importance of diplomacy; Kagenui Yozuru exists as a weapon more devastating than perhaps any other currently fielded in the arsenal of humanity.

Do not make the mistake of assuming she is here to be your hero.

A simple _onmyōji_ , she is not.

There exists a more appropriate word to describe her, I think:

Executioner.

Enough about Kagenui for the moment.

As I said, I also met Saitomi Shiori in college.

Well, this is hardly worth grumbling over at this point…

Again, I at one point admitted I was involved with someone while I was attending university.

Now that all my dirty laundry’s been aired out to the paranormal community’s gossip machines, I acknowledge: that “involved someone” was Saitomi Shiori.

My ex-girlfriend is a bureaucrat for the tax authority.

I have such a scandalous connection.

I’ll just have to ask you take it at face value that this was the case.

Kagenui Yozuru and I had, if I recall right, shared a major. Maybe I’m misremembering that — spare me, it’s been a good decade now. I can’t be bothered right now to go back and check for some off-the-cuff comment from two dozen volumes ago. But it might be important later, so I’ll have to double-check that.

Maybe Kagenui Yozuru shared a class with me. Maybe she didn’t. But I’m certain I did not share any classes with Saitomi Shiori. I think I’m certain, anyway.

As befits her present occupation, Saitomi Shiori was an economics major with a minor interest in criminal psychology. Part of me wonders if she didn’t take interest in me because of that fascination. Having never really considered that possibility before, I’m a little mortified by the notion I may have been something not unlike a favorite lab rat to her. Have I spent all this time just running through a maze with a transparent ceiling for her?

With that newfound perspective in mind, I truly begin to regret my vagrant and criminal lifestyle. No, I don’t. Never in a million years.

Does Saitomi Shiori regret how things have gone? I can’t say.

What is she thinking right now?

My mind was flooded by a rush of what-if’s such as that while I called for a taxi. Saitomi was not in need of a hospital, she insisted, but she nevertheless needed to rest.

For as long as I’ve known her, Saitomi has never been a very healthy person. “Frail” is a word which describes her, but not in the way that “frail” can describe those mythical porcelain-skinned princesses littering the traditions of romantic fantasy. Rather, Saitomi was frail in the sense that she might well push herself past her limit at any minute.

It was like she consciously chose to live believing she had no limits, despite her limits being extremely low in reality.

In university she would grow ill over trivialities and still never learn.

As we rode back to Saitomi’s apartment in Hiroo, I remembered thinking for a moment while I was in that town full of foxes last month, as she was running off through the rain — I remember thinking that she was liable to get sick doing that. Well, did I really think that in the moment back then, or was that me planting thoughts in my selfish little mind to tidy up my hindsight?

Does she regret anything?

For that matter,

Do I regret anything?

Not at all.

Maybe a little.

Maybe I regret everything.

Do I know anything about what’s happening?

Nothing.

Not a thing.

For all I knew at that moment, this entire thing could just have been a ploy to drag me out into the open.

I’m the sort of person who thinks that way, after all, aren’t I? If, for instance, a certain kid from a certain no-name town were to call me and say, “Please, help me, my life is in your hands,” I wouldn’t for even a moment ever consider showing up.

I’ve lived my entire life doubting the sincerity of others. Perhaps it’s projection. In a way, my rampant paranoia is simply me getting what’s been a long time coming.

 Saitomi Shiori has not yet learned this lesson, it seems. So I’m simply going to have to make sure she finally figures it out.

Don’t rely on me for anything.

Leave me out of your life.

I don’t need to deal with this.

But I’ll deal with it anyway.

Now, I’d gathered something of an idea about Saitomi’s living situation from the address she gave me, but when the taxi came to its stop, there were a few things which came to mind.

“Look at you, living large,” I teased as we exited the cab.

I felt — rather than heard — her giggle. Scarcely a _nishishi_.

I had the impression city planners had intended to make the entire area feel like a park; lots of greenery all over the streets. I know for a fact she works for the Tax Agency; it was reasonably close, about twenty minutes by train. Several state embassies aren’t far from there either. I bet it’s popular among foreigners. If I had to guess, I would say a one-room apartment near where Saitomi lived probably went for between one and three hundred thousand yen a month.

They say crime doesn’t pay — a saying at which I’ve always scoffed. But in that moment I was starting to suspect maybe I’d made some sort of mistake in my life. It isn’t as if Saitomi Shiori lived in some glamorous, gold-plated neighborhood, but it seemed like too nice of a place for a single woman to be living. How much do you make again?

How exactly do you even make that much anyway?

As I asked Saitomi for her apartment number, I realized: Kagenui was sitting over the entrance to the complex. She waved, but said nothing.

I shouldn’t be surprised Kagenui had arrived before us. If travelling from above, without having to abide by traffic laws, I suppose you can navigate the urban sprawl pretty quickly. Joining us in the cab would have threatened her ground-averse ways. I had assumed she might take the metro, but when I stop and think about it even that would probably require her to put her feet down.

How exactly did she manage to ever enter an airport with that sort of rule? Maybe she’ll try and suggest she jumped all the way from the North Pole. Considering her performance earlier, maybe it was even possible. In that case, who’s more of an anomaly — a vampire, or a monstrously powerful human? In case you need a reminder, I’m joking. At least I think I am.

Lucky for Kagenui, the street-level entryway of the building was on a tier overlooking a lower entrance level. Thus, by technicality, it was not solid ground. Rather than have to scratch our heads and wring our hands about having her climb four stories past strangers’ windows to enter Saitomi’s unit like a cat burglar, Kagenui could simply walk in with us.

I say that she could because that was absolutely a possibility.

Hypothetically speaking she could have acted normal for once.

But Kagenui Yozuru is Kagenui Yozuru.

That is to say, she chose to climb up like a freak anyway.

Drained of my wit by this point, I brought Saitomi inside.

We went up to her apartment.

To an onlooker, this would have maybe looked like a sober gentleman helping a drunk coworker back home, were it not for the fact it was the middle of the day.

The fact Saitomi had collapsed as she did suggested to me she was currently on sick leave from work. How long had this been the case?

“I’ve been out for about two days,” she told me as I closed her door.

No tricks from her this time; it was definitely an ordinary apartment.

An ordinary apartment, huh…

At the opposite end of the room, the curtains were closed. A Kagenui-shaped shadow was squatting behind them.

Two days, though — “You’ve been out of work for two days and yet you’re this weak?” I shook my head as I unlatched the window. “You should have called in sick long in advance of this. Overwork deaths are on the rise. Did you push yourself to exhaustion, Saitomi?”

“Nothing like that,” answered Saitomi, her voice a whisper.

Kagenui rolled in head-first.

“Took you long enough, Kaiki-kun.”

Don’t think to patronize me after entering like a monkey.

I started to say something like that to her, but past Kagenui, I finally got a good look over Saitomi’s apartment:

What I had initially assumed was going to be the typical loner’s one-room-plus-kitchen arrangement was, instead, a family-sized flat which could comfortably house 2 — no, maybe 3 people. A living room, then a kitchen, then a bathroom, and finally, behind Door Number 3, I could guess a master bedroom. A luxury suite it was not. However, to call living alone — in this sort of home, in the middle of the city — “wasteful spending” isn’t far off the mark.

For one person to afford this sort of living arrangement on a bureaucrat’s salary… I don’t know much about this sort of thing, but I think it said a lot about just how hard Saitomi was working.

“Nothing like that,” my ass.

Last month, I had mockingly conjured up imagery of a spousal lifestyle to parody Saitomi’s hopeful efforts to reconnect with me.

Waking up early then working late into the night at a harsh office job to support herself plus a stay-at-home husband — as if this would give her satisfaction in life. As if that would make her happy.

I’d called all of that ridiculous, to her face.

But it dawned on me now: for some time, perhaps a long time, that had been the exact goal to which Saitomi Shiori had applied herself.

From under my arm she grinned up at me and said, “Welcome home.”

Maybe she would have been serious, if she hadn’t been so weak. Maybe right now I would be subject to whatever fantasy of my rehabilitation upon which she’s been riding.

But none of that can ever come true now — can it, Saitomi?

Who had driven her to this, put her in this state?

In a way, I did. Saitomi Shiori is obsessed with me because she views me as her savior.

She had told me as much.

But Kaiki Deishū is the last person on earth who can save you, Saitomi. You’re dying for a future which doesn’t exist.


	4. 004

Perhaps I was hasty in saying Saitomi Shiori was dying for anything in particular. Saitomi isn’t dying for any particular cause. She hasn’t thrown herself to the flames, as it were; she isn’t killing herself in any grand pursuit. There is no “why” to Saitomi Shiori’s illness.

It’s true that her work ethic has exacerbated her condition. It’s very much true that she should have started slowing down and sought proper treatment weeks ago — possibly even before I last saw her. 

But Saitomi’s situation is as much her fault as it is anyone else’s.

With regards to Saitomi Shiori’s health, it’s hard to find something that isn’t wrong. The situation was so staggering as to be laughable.

Her diagnoses were a depressingly tall stack of stapled charts, visit summaries with various doctors of various clinical specializations, folders packed with cheery little informative pamphlets — so much information crammed with so much sterile terminology that I don’t even know where to begin to describe the gravity of the situation.

That woman had some nerve, to be as cheery as she was in that state.

She was far and beyond the point where she could be working.

It was amazing she wasn’t coughing.

Not coughing yet, anyway.

I went over what records I could while Kagenui put Saitomi to bed — what I could comprehend, anyway. I quickly gave up, however, and concluded that perhaps Kagenui had a better grasp of the situation; she’d been in contact with Saitomi long enough to lay an ambush for me. I would simply ask her about it when she came out.

As I waited, I made a point to study how Saitomi kept her household:

Tidy.

Clean.

Simple as that.

One might wonder if it hadn’t been furnished only recently.

I wondered for a moment if Kagenui hadn’t cleaned up for her. But the furniture was all carefully maintained — sofa cushions straightened out and arm pillows fluffed; remote controls carefully organized; novels and manga shelved together, arranged by author; the worst thing in the main room was a pile of video games, but even that felt deliberately messy, as if its presence gave character to the apartment overall.

And what exactly was the character of this home, for that matter?

Fittingly of Saitomi Shiori: it felt idealistic.

Like she’s waiting everyday for guests.

Diligently, she works night and day; then she comes home to the hope that, “Today will be the day someone walks through the door and has dinner across from me.”

Being in this pretend-household was making me ill.

Not a moment too soon, Kagenui stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind herself carefully.

I took a couple steps toward her.

But she held her hand out.

“Best you stay out of arm’s reach, Kaiki,” she said, her voice low and serious, “I’m liable to crack your skull if I had a jab at you right now. In fact, take a couple steps back, because kicking you would probably be worse.”

Kagenui Yozuru is not the sort of person who just hits someone out of anger. She doesn’t lose self-control so easily as the rest of us. However, I’m not one to test her resolve. 

I backed away.

“All of this could have been avoided if you just answered your phone,” she scratched her head. “No, I guess not everything. But we could have avoided that dramatic entrance if you were a little more responsible.”

“Responsible?” I scoffed. “Me? Of all people? Are you mistaking me for someone else? I’m the walking definition of responsibility.”

Kagenui shook her head.  _ There’s no hope for you, _ is what I read from her expression.

She turned away and started to walk.

“Wait,” I said. “I need you to explain to me just what’s happening to Saitomi.”

“Ask her yourself once she’s up from her kip. I haven’t the will to speak to you right now.”

“Where are you going, then?”

“To clear my head. If you leave her alone before I’m back, I’ll break your legs.”

And then she left.

Through the front door.

“Seriously…” I grumbled.

Quietly, carefully, I entered Saitomi’s room. It wasn’t an extremely large space; her bed alone took up about half of it.

That reminds me — for as long as I’ve known her Saitomi Shiori has been a restless sleeper. I think she had accounted for this, as her bed could fit a person and a half. How exactly does that fit into her fantasy, though? If someone else slept against her they were putting their lives at risk. I’ve experienced that firsthand. But then, if her bed were any larger, there might not be any way left to get around it.

At the moment I entered, she was asleep. Her breath was so quiet, I had to stop and listen to make sure she was still moving.

Well, for the moment she’s alright, I thought. So I took a look around.

The closet was open: rows of work suits, spare dress shirts, pants…

“You stopped wearing skirts completely,” I observed, loudly.

“I feel comfier in pants.” 

The answer back was instantaneous. Saitomi had never been asleep; as I said, she isn’t a restful sleeper.

“Your priorities have changed since university,” I replied. “Back then you were more worried about femininity than you are now. Come to think of it, you wore your hair much longer, too…”

“I have you to thank for some of that, don’t I?” She grinned at me. “You told me to try short hair.”

“So I did…”

I don’t remember.

_ Nishishi. _

“Maybe it was something you just said in passing. But I put a lot of thought into it. I was afraid to take your advice at the time, but after you left I lopped it clear off. They say you don’t know what you have until you’ve lost it — well, I think I was very aware of what I had to lose before I lost it. I think I knew I’d lost it already long before. And then I spent a long time pleading for it to come back to me.”

“Saitomi, you…”

I stopped.

If you have nothing good to say, don’t say anything.

But there was nothing for me to say at all.

“I’m sorry, I’ve put you in an awful position, Deishun.”

“Be quiet,” I chided her. “There’s not enough air on the earth to fit all your apologies.”

When I think about it — did Kagenui leave so that we could be alone to speak? If so, then that’s unnecessary. I don’t think there’s anything to really be said between us.

“Besides…”

As I thought about it, I started speaking aloud.

“I don’t like you apologizing like you need to close up your affairs,” I said. “It’s not as if you won’t make it through this.”

She pulled her covers up halfway over her face, but I could tell she was beaming at me.

“Man,” she said. “I wonder if that was all I needed to hear this whole time. Maybe I just fell ill because I wanted to hear you tell me I’d be fine, Deishun?”

With the way she was speaking, I expected her to be flush in the face.

But even a little color in her cheeks was an insurmountable challenge for her right now. 

It was an awful thing to say.

… Don’t play along with me like this.

It hurts to watch.

“Ah, Deishun — if I passed away right now I’d be full of contentment. Just the fact I could hear you lie to me makes me feel complete. Thank you.”

I frowned, but I suspect this was only encouraging for her.

Truly though, this is a nostalgic situation for me, as I suspect it is for her as well. We used to be like this all the time.

In a sense I think we both guided one-another into this conversation to try and recall what that felt like — for old times’ sake.

“Hey Deishun.”

“What is it now?”

“Won’t you stay with me until it’s over?”

“I can’t,” was what I wanted to say. I stopped myself, however.

I also thought to say, “It won’t be over anytime soon.” But that, as we’ve already concluded, is a very, very bad thing to say.

As someone who lies compulsively, I’m impressed by Saitomi’s ability to make me seriously consider what I let out of my mouth.

I must have taken too long to consider, because Saitomi spoke up.

“It’s okay. I know it was a selfish request.”

“I can’t stay here, but I’ll make the time to visit you everyday.”

That was a half-lie.

“I’m very busy these days, but I can find the time for that, at least.”

“Very busy,” eh? Now that was a real lie. I could sit in the corner for three days and still maintain my cash flow.

But this, however, was a sufficient compromise to satisfy Saitomi.

“Thank you, Deishun,” she whispered, smiling.

It was a deal, signed and sealed.

“I’ll make sure to stay with you for now though, until Kagenui comes back.” I assumed she didn’t hear the part about breaking my legs if I left.

“It’s a promise,” she said.

“Indeed. You know I always keep my promises.”

What could possibly be so important that it took precedent over Saitomi’s condition?

An explanation for that would have to wait until the next day…


	5. 005

The Lord Spider is a rare and dangerous form of arachnid; unique to Japan, yet migrated from elsewhere. Mention of this species is only found in the writings of the Heian period Buddhist monks who bravely fought to wipe their evil from the earth, lest they threaten the countryside. By the early Edo period, the last Lord Spider had died out. 

Perhaps you’ve never heard of this before.

Well, I can assure you, just because you’ve never heard of them doesn’t mean they weren’t a serious trauma to the people of this country. They had to be buried in history to preserve the public’s sense of safety.

Some savvy scholars suspect the Lord Spiders came from far, far across the ocean, their tiny eggs carried on strands of silk in the breeze from lands where their progenitors had already been wiped out. They carried in them a hateful envy for the humans which stole their home — a rage so mighty that, even after their numbers had dwindled, their spirits still had to be quelled by diligent priests.

A seal was erected in an obscure shrine in the foothills of what is today Tokyo prefecture’s western mountains, ensuring the Lord Spiders’ wandering spirits were trapped beneath the earth. However, at the beginning of the Meiji era, that shrine was abandoned and forgotten. The seal held for many, many decades, until finally at some point or other in the last forty years it was accidentally destroyed by city planning, allowing the angry spirits to run free. Today, the ghosts left behind by the Lord Spiders now wander the cityscape of Tokyo. If the rumors are to be believed, they will occasionally wander into the homes of the city’s occupants. Symptoms of a Lord Spider infestation include excessive exhaustion coupled with insomnia, feelings of deep anxiety or even paranoia, a tendency to forget details…

If this diagnosis seems familiar, put that to the back of your mind.

This is a very dangerous spirit, you see.

“But if it’s so dangerous,” you might ask, “then how have I never heard of it until now? Why is it only mentioned in rumors?”

Ask anyone talking about it online and the typical answer would be that it has been suppressed by the scientific authorities of the day, who stubbornly refuse to acknowledge its existence.

But if I’m being frank? You have not heard of the Lord Spider because I made it up. The Lord Spider is one of several rumors I’ve started since I came to Tokyo a few weeks ago.

The digital era in which we live has seen the rise of a new renaissance of hoaxes and hoaxers. The information age which was heralded at the dawn of the Internet has turned out to be nothing more than a new era of exploitation. A lie travels around the world twice before any utterance of the truth is even considered.

If I’m to go on being honest, the Lord Spider was probably one of the most mediocre pieces of gossip I planted in the city. I had at least three other stories (I sometimes forget to keep count) circulating amongst high schoolers and college students and blue collar workers at that time. Regardless, I made sure to keep nudging conversation online with throwaway accounts — you never know if it might end up striking gold.

Incidentally, another urban legend I started — you know this sort of story — about a monstrous woman stalking the streets at night had a sudden memetic explosion of popularity after someone on social media proclaimed their love for the being in spite of, or perhaps because of how it was originally described.

Truly, the Internet is a marvelous thing.

I will add, the Lord Spider was more popular with older, more imaginative lower-class workers. I think this is because those symptoms I mentioned earlier were lifted straight from a quick search on the subject of “work-related stress.” People like that don’t really need an elaborate backstory involving the worldly origins of an evil spirit — all you need to tell them is that it’s a spider yōkai. I offered charms and blessings to anyone who wanted protection against angry spider ghosts, on the cheap. 150 yen for a length of prayer paper, handmade by yours truly for a fraction of that cost. 900 for a personal ward.

“Can’t be too careful,” they think. “It’s not that much anyway,” they shrug as they foolishly send me their precious earnings.

Higher-end versions existed for the more extravagant spenders, of course.

Naturally, I was also running a variant of my typical “curse and curse removal” services on the side.

Stories like the Lord Spider were a sort of experiment for me. I’ve run jobs in many locales nationwide, but Tokyo is an entity unto itself. 

Operating in this sort of urban sprawl can present its own challenges. For one, I need to be careful with how widely available I make my services. I’m only one guy, after all, and I’m also very averse to any actual work, so my physical charm production is small-scale by necessity. Population density is so much higher than elsewhere that it’s hard to keep up with basic demand. I’m certainly earning a profit, but I’m also challenging myself in a way.

“Let’s all work hard!” I say, to nobody but myself.

The morning after my reunion with Kagenui and Saitomi, I was sitting in a park to review my finances and the progress made on various projects. As I sat there doing the bare-minimum of what could be called work, I recalled that I’d first come up with the idea for the Lord Spider within about a day of my flight from Saitomi last month.

This is unfortunate to admit now, but my choice of name for this rumored spirit was partly influenced by Saitomi’s own name. I tore out half of the strokes in the first character of her surname,  _ Sai _ , leaving behind  _ Shu,  _ the kanji for “ _ lord.” _ I don’t know why I did this. Perhaps I was angry. Or, maybe I was just thinking too much about the prior few days and I just decided to use whatever words I had in my head. But like any good con artist or forger I think I was also putting a little of myself into the hoax as well. This will be on the test, so remember well: in the kanji for “counterfeit,”  _ Gan, _ the characters for both Saitomi’s  _ Sai _ and my  _ Kai _ are huddled together, one atop the other.

“A ‘ _ counterfeit,’ _ huh…”

I sighed.

Pry off the canopy from that same character for “counterfeit,” dress it up with a few extra brush strokes, and then place it over a stack of  _ "mouths” _ from the word  _ “commodity” _ atop  _ “mountain.” _ When you say the resulting character aloud, it’s the same word, the same arrangement of sounds, but the meaning has changed: 

_ Cancer. _

A growing mountain of hungry mouths, eating away at life.

Is a fraud like me any different, in the end?

You know, in a way, for Saitomi I’ve been rather like some sort of carcinogen, feeding her addiction, driving her harder and harder into the ground. Our relationship was a counterfeit — and an evil one at that.

It probably would have been better if I’d never entered her life. 

Would it, though? Surely I can’t blame myself for her poor decisions. Or her genetics for that matter.

What about Saitomi Shiori is worth pitying? There’s a cautionary tale there, more than anything. Don’t get yourself involved with liars.

It’s all so hopeless.

I was no longer paying attention to my phone, or to my surroundings by this point; so deep was I in gloomy reflection that Kagenui had no difficulty sneaking up on me. I didn’t know she was there until I heard her heels land on the opposite end of my park bench.

“Oi, Kaiki-kun,” she greeted me.

The look in her eyes told me I wouldn’t be allowed to leave.

She had a box in her hands.

She rustled its contents.

“Let’s play some shōgi.”


	6. 006

Westerners tend to refer to shōgi as “Japanese chess.” It is my understanding that the two games share origins in some long-lost Indian game. However, while it’s completely understandable to compare shōgi to chess if one’s only experience is seeing two middle-aged people play it in the park — I think the act of likening shōgi to chess is misleading. 

Without trying to launch into one of those nauseating tangents where I explain,  _ “I use this game as a metaphor for how I live life,” _ I will say: I find shōgi rewards forethought far more than chess. For one thing, consider that pieces can reenter play at any given time; sacrifices in chess are all towards a singular goal, whereas choosing to abandon your pieces in shōgi can be a decision you will regret. Nevertheless it’s a decision which eventually happens; a decision which eventually  _ must  _ happen. Shōgi is a simple game (I think it’s simple, anyway), but the situations which can arise are exciting.

I’ve now said all of this, but really, perhaps part of my objection to the comparison comes from the fact I have a lot more history with shōgi than I do with chess. Back in college, Kagenui, Oshino, Gaen and I used to huddle together and play shōgi in stark ignorance of homework.

The important thing to note is that I was, in fact, quite bad at shōgi. Despite this, I tended to drive the way our matches went by picking moves expressly designed to annoy the person sitting next to me — that is, Kagenui. If Gaen was seated at the north end of the board, then I was in the east, with Kagenui to the south and Oshino to the west. Gaen tended to know exactly what I was doing in every game; Oshino, meanwhile, would play defensively and wait for an opportunity. Many times however all three of them would grow fed up with my antics and gang up on me.

All this is actually a lie. Or maybe it’s not. I was actually quite good at shōgi. 

Or maybe not.

In any case, I was out of practice. I’m afraid my lifestyle has kept me far too busy for play; not to mention I haven’t really had anyone with whom to play in the first place. The fact Kagenui demanded we play did not bode well.

Having not felt the need to ask who should be first player, Kagenui elected to start the game by opening up space for her Rook to range. Not wanting to appear out of my element, I quickly moved to castle my King. Kagenui had not brought a game clock, so it wouldn’t be a timed match. Nevertheless, we both completed those initial turns as fast as we could — generally less than one or two seconds for each move.

As a student I had occasionally studied games played by Ōyama Yasuharu whenever I wished to improve my play. I often like to think I am a kindred spirit with Ōyama, but the reality is that I don’t really have the forethought to think far enough ahead for the sorts of genuinely elaborate defenses Ōyama concocted.

I really can’t hold a candle to a master like that, after all. I’m nothing special, you know.

Just a fake faker.

Up to this point not a word had passed between us. A few moves later — a Pawn or two exchanged, a Bishop here and a Rook there, and the center ranks of the board were beginning to congest with the sorts of placements which would spend the next several dozen turns in total catastrophe. It was under this tension that Kagenui broke her silence:

“It’s a right shan about Saitomi,” she said, snatching up my Bishop.

“It is what it is,” I dryly replied, already responding to the move after the one mentioned previously. “I suppose these sorts of things tend to happen more frequently, the older we get.”

“Doesn’t make it any better in her case, though. She was always so energetic, especially next to you. You always looked one foot in the grave even when you lot were bosied up together.”

I drew back my Gold General from her striking Pawn, but Kagenui immediately put down a Bishop in the space I’d vacated.

“Kaiki-kun,” she leaned in. “Don’t sit there acting like this situation is pure pimps for you.”

“I’m not,” I replied.

I made my first mistake of the match, there: I covered my Knight from her Bishop using my Gold General, but she simply deflected her Bishop off to my first rank and promoted. 

My over-defensiveness had cost me the game on that turn.

“Nothing about this is at all fortunate. But what happened between me and Saitomi is in the distant past,” I insisted. “If anything, this ordeal is draining for me. I’ve told her time and again that her obsession with me is unhealthy, and that I want nothing to do with her.”

“You do one heavy job of making that clear, you know.”

“People are people,” I talked past her, making the last desperate attempt at a defense as she closed off the board around my King. “And people die. I’m not bothered by it in the slightest at this point. If anything, this situation is only burdensome for me.”

“Kaiki — you don’t handle loss well,” said Kagenui. Having completed her final move, she folded her arms. “What worries me — aye, what I think worries Gaen and Oshino as well, is that you’re absolutely fussed by this. You’ve been strutting your sentimental side lately, and when you get sentimental you start acting huddy.”

“I’m not planning anything, if that’s what concerns you.” I started resetting the pieces. “Nothing that concerns you, anyway. Once things are resolved here, I’ll be back to my work full-time.”

I went ahead and opted to be first player.

The thing about playing first in shōgi is that your first move decides the counters available to your opponent. Thus whoever initiates is at a disadvantage. The opening move is in fact the opening mistake.

Looking back, I made the opening move with Saitomi Shiori. Everything which followed thereafter — our relationship, our falling out — was my fault.

The real winning move is just not to play at all.

We both castled up at the start of the second game.

“Maybe I’m putting you in too solid of a squeeze here. It’s been years. I guess I don’t really know what I was expecting from you.”

“You’ve been keeping busy,” I said, changing the subject. “What’s so important in Europe, anyway?”

“Can’t be havering about it right now,” she replied, rejecting to trade Rooks. “It’s pressing business for sure, though — something what needs to be resolved before a situation can get out of hand.”

The only thing getting out of hand is that mess of an accent.

“If it’s so important, then is Ononoki going to be joining you? An  _ onmyōji _ without her  _ shikigami _ strikes me as off-balance.”

“Nay, she’s got her own work to handle.”

And what could be so important it has those two split up?…  

“Ononoki’s currently living in the Araragi household.” 

You can’t be serious.

“She’s still there to make sure that oddity family stays out of trouble. Though, with how ornery she’s been lately, I think she’s liable to be causing her own trouble at some point.”

“Living under that roof, she’s bound to take a turn for the worse,” I quipped. “There’s a lot of bad influences around her, living there.”

Kagenui laughed. “I had a fancy you’d say that, Kaiki-kun. Can’t stand that Araragi Koyomi lad, can you?”

I pushed my Silver General forwards past her pawns. “It’s not that I actively resent him or anything. He just tends to be a nuisance for me.”

At this, Kagenui Yozuru hummed. 

She moved up her pawn to block an opening for my Bishop and said, “You know, he actually reminds me a lot of you, that devil-boy.”

I was about to take her Silver with mine, but at this I froze.

“Always running headfirst into trouble for the sake of others, always getting himself tangled in other people’s affairs… isn’t that just like you, Kaiki? You went and did something reckless this last January for the sake of some kid you barely know anymore. Not to mention that bizzo with the kid back before Tanabata… and now, the moment Saitomi Shiori says she’s in trouble, you’re carrying her in your arms and clinging to her like you’re afraid you’re going to lose her. You two both act like you want to die alone, yet you both go weak when people need help. You ken what I think, Kaiki? I think maybe you—”

“Kagenui,” I declared, loudly, “I’m sorry. I’m going to ignore the fact you just said that. And neither of us will speak of it again.”

I completed my move finally. Kagenui gave me a look, before sighing and continuing our match.

I won that game, though I wondered if Kagenui had allowed me to do so. She won our third game, and rather than try and set a tie, I decided we ought to call it there. Things had become too awkward, so I just accepted the loss.

“How soon will you be leaving?” I asked her as we put away the board.

“Keen to be rid of me, eh?” She laughed. “I’ll be gone by the end of the week, if all things go right. Hope to see you again before then, but if not — well, we can catch up after I’ve returned.”

We sat for a while thereafter and exchanged small talk — petty, tiresome small talk: we reminisced on school, and some old jobs, before parting ways.

I made my way to Saitomi’s apartment after that.


	7. 007

Araragi Koyomi and Kaiki Deishū are nothing alike.

Not in the slightest bit.

I am nothing like him.

For starters, I certainly do not care for his fixation on small children.

Moreover, that boy’s misguided kindness, his goodwill driven by guilt over his despicable nature and his folly as a man — I turn up my nose at the suggestion we have anything in common.

Araragi Koyomi will die for the sake of someone else’s trifles.

Kaiki Deishū will die, as Kagenui said, alone.

There is nothing to compare between us.

Nothing.

Not.

A.

Thing.

Why Kagenui felt the need to say what she did, I don’t know. I imagine she wanted to make me feel bad — well, she certainly accomplished that.

Because of that careless and cruel remark, I was in a foul mood when I arrived at Saitomi Shiori’s flat.

When I entered, I found Saitomi curled up on the couch, shivering. Had she not heard me enter? When I touched her shoulder she sprang to life, wrapping her arms around me.

“Deishu-ku-fu-n!”

What the hell?

“Don’t call me names like I’m your baby nephew. What happened to the other nickname?”

“Sorry, Deishun — I stuttered.”

“Not only is that patently untrue but it’s also not your joke. Come up with your own humor.”

“I thought I’d try something different, that’s all.”

“I like it when you’re being yourself — not whatever that was.”

“Oh, what’s this, what’s this? Deishun, did you say you like me?”

…

I chose not to dignify that question with a response.

_ Nishishi! _

“You’re in good spirits, at least,” I said. “Speaking of others’ lines — if Oshino were here, he’d probably say by now, ‘You’re really energetic today…’”

“And then he’d add, ‘Did something good happen?’”  _ Naha. _ “Why, something good did happen — Deishun came to make me dinner!”

“You’re probably the first person to ever be excited for my cooking.”

What’s on the menu, you might ask?

Surprise: it’s omurice.

Soft food with a tolerable texture, no strong flavors — perfect for someone with a weak appetite. The good protein content helps, too.

At least, I think it does, anyway.

Saitomi Shiori watched me prepare her dinner.

Then she sat and begged me to spoon-feed her.

“Not happening,” I said. But she persisted until she got her way.

Next she pleaded with me to rub her upper back. I may have grumbled about this, but yet again I did as she asked.

And then, after that, she held out her arms until I sat beside her; at which point she wrapped herself around me and laid her head in my lap.

Yeah, I made sure to take good care of her.

After a while like this, I concluded it was time for her to get some rest. She had been strong enough to make her way to her living room before I showed up, but she insisted she needed me to carry her to her bed.

“In your arms,” she specifically told me.

Well, alright. I did this too, I admit.

She looked awful happy, being spoiled like this.

But as I was tucking her in, her smile grew weak and her eyes heavy.

“I spent so much time wanting for exactly this,” she said. “All of this is what I wanted, and yet…”

I sat by her and simply listened.

“… And yet, I feel like everything was for nothing.”

“Life isn’t something you live for the sake of gain,” I objected.

“Ah, you’re right, you’re right. It just doesn’t feel like I’ve really been living — like I haven’t been alive for a while.”

I felt her clutch at my sleeve. Eventually, she feebly wrapped her hand around my wrist.

“Deishū—”

I.

Grimacing, fighting back tears, she said to me, 

“I don’t want to die alone, Deishū.”

I.

I have,

I can’t,

I don’t want — 

“You won’t,” was all I could manage to say. Again I said, “You won’t,” because it was the only words left to me.

But it was such a terrible lie I told her.

I can’t even tell her a good lie.

I can’t deceive Saitomi Shiori.

But I’m really nothing like Araragi Koyomi at all —

Because,

There is something I can do.

“You won’t die alone.” 

I made that promise to Shiori.


	8. 008

Are you familiar with the story of _Madam Butterfly?_

First it was a novel by American author John Luther Long, though it was later adapted into an Italian opera. Well, I think there were several attempts to bring it to the opera house. But the most notable example comes to us from esteemed Italian composer Giacomo Puccini and librettist Luigi Illica: _Madama butterfly_.

Long’s original novel and Puccini’s opera differ slightly on a few details and their conclusions, but here’s what counts: both versions tell the story of a Japanese woman named Madam Butterfly who marries an American naval officer, Benjamin Pinkerton, while the latter is based out of Japan. In both versions, Pinkerton is more or less a deadbeat who led along the sincere and loving Madam Butterfly into passionate matrimony, shunning her family and fathering a boy with her before leaving for America once his tour of duty in the Far East is complete.

Under both accounts, Madam Butterfly patiently awaits her beloved’s return, but when Pinkerton does return it is with a new American wife under his arm, seeking to claim their son and leave once again.

Where the two versions diverge most significantly is in their endings:

According to John Luther Long’s original story, after realizing her husband has abandoned her, Madam Butterfly attempts to take her own life with her father’s sword, but is stopped by her infant’s cry. When Pinkerton’s wife comes for the child, she finds the house deserted.

In Puccini’s retelling, Lieutenant Pinkerton comes to the house as well to break the news to Madam Butterfly. As he looks through the decorations set out to welcome him home, however, he falters, and ashamedly confesses he cannot face her, leaving his wife to make the announcement in his stead. Madam Butterfly leaves her son with an American flag and disembowels herself upon her estranged father’s blade as in rushes Pinkerton, too late to stop her.

Both versions are unsympathetic to Pinkerton; Long concludes his story in defiance of the man’s selfish indifference, while Puccini openly punishes Pinkerton by cursing him to suffer guilt without any possible form of repent.

When it comes to Saitomi Shiori, I must confess: I have long empathized with Lieutenant Pinkerton. I have harbored this despicable feeling of self-resentment — perhaps because, most despicably, I do not regret the anguish through which I’ve put Saitomi. To the contrary, I don’t believe I have such feelings within me.

That lack of guilt is exactly what makes me guilty.

It’s not normal.

Pinkerton is a wretched villain who broke someone with his whims.

And so too am I.

But whereas I used to find myself disgusting for how I mirrored Long’s take of Pinkerton, after my visit with Saitomi that night, I was trying to remember the ending details of Puccini’s opera.

Only when I am losing everything do I realize what I had.

It’s all too easy to revel in my self-loathing; by endlessly despising my choices in life, I have been able to avoid taking actions which would right the wrongs I have committed — “It’s good enough to hate one’s self.” In this way I never have to face those I’ve wronged. I needn’t fear the prospect that I’ll never be forgiven.

But Saitomi Shiori would never accept this solipsism. All this time, for all these years that woman has been too keenly aware of my habits. She will never let me just be alone with this inner disgust. She perpetually seeks to confront me head-on,

Because she loves me.

This is what makes her the very worst kind of Madam Butterfly: she stubbornly concluded that she loved Kaiki Deishū for who he is, even as he perpetually pushes her away.

She is too good of a person for the likes of me.

Truly, the women in my life have always known me better than I know myself.

I wonder — is it like that with you too, Araragi?

It’s regrettable that, faced with Saitomi Shiori’s situation, all I could hope to do was plot exactly the sort of vile little scheme which everyone would expect of me.

I closed up all of my efforts across the city — all of them. Every side-business I was operating had to be completely shut down so that I might focus completely on a single new plan.

I mentioned that beyond the Lord Spider story, I had several different rumors floating around town…. well, never you mind all those triflesome urban legends. The very same night I made that horrible and wretched lie to Saitomi Shiori, I set about describing a far more dire entity:

 _Madam Spider,_ she is called —

A devoted and genuine lover who made a fateful vow to a passionate man, and then patiently awaited his return.

Friends and family warned Madam Spider her love had left her behind, pleaded with her to seek out new love, but Madam Spider merely pushed them aside to continue to live in the delusion that someday, her beloved would return.

But as more time went by, Madam Spider’s impatience grew, and she finally started to wonder why he did not return. Having eschewed friends and family, Madam Spider’s doubts were left alone to collide with her conviction to fill her mind with grief. She wondered if perhaps she would never live to see her beloved again. And as Madam Spider considered this, she began to cry.

The spiders of her abode saw her tears, and out of pity they offered to the Madam a pact:

“We are kindred spirits with you,” said the spiders to Madam Spider. “Go out daily, live your life, and seek out your beloved. From our fine silk we will weave a wondrous gown so beautiful that tales of its splendor will fill the land. So long as you must wait, we shall continue to weave. However long it may take, we will go on weaving and you shall go on living. And when you have been reunited with your beloved, bring him to your bed and we will gift you our gossamer gown. But to weave for so long shall make us hungry. Thus, in exchange for our labor, upon that moment you two are joined together we shall feast upon you both.”

Mad with loneliness, Madam Spider happily agreed to the spiders’ offer. And the spiders, for their part, dutifully fulfilled their end of the deal and began to weave while Madam Spider spent her days _living as perfectly normally, as self-fulfillingly as one can,_ despite or even in spite of that loneliness.

And so she has lived happily ever since, diligently watching for her beloved, so that they might die together, and never be alone again.

Not that terrible of a Grimm-like fairytale, especially if you consider I hashed out the fine details of the myth over the course of a taxi ride.

It’s a little web I spun from the various salient threads I’d created across the city over the last few weeks. Most relevant are two particular tales I’ve mentioned already: angry ghosts of spiders and monstrous accursed women stalking the streets.

But why does Madam Spider walk the streets seemingly in the daytime? In any other story like this you would think to hear how she “stalks the streets night, hunting for her beloved?” The answer to that will come in two parts.

The first part of the answer: Madam Spider does not stalk and she does not haunt any streets, because she is decidedly _alive._ Madam Spider is cursed by spiders to be immortal. _She won’t die._

Now the second part: she walks the streets and lives her life in the daytime, because that’s how normal people live their lives.

This is very, very important.

It was hard, but I spent the next couple days working in doubletime. From my waking hours til the moment I fell asleep, I flooded the internet with rumors about Madam Spider living in Tokyo.

In a small town — like the one with the foxes, or the one where the child of Gaen resides — rumors tend to spread very easily. However, for rumors to gain power in such a place requires a considerable amount of time. Tokyo is another beast entirely; with so many people living so many different kinds of lives, it can be hard to gain momentum with just any shallow rumor. But once something does begin to gain notoriety in Tokyo, it will be far harder to slow down than anywhere else, and far more powerful.

If I had to think of a metaphor, it’s a little like boiling oil as opposed to water.

I didn’t have a lot of time, so I had to turn the heat to full-blast.

Kagenui would be flying out for Europe on Friday morning.

I didn’t know how long Saitomi had to live, so everything had to come together by Friday.

On social media, I asked leading questions about curses involving spiders.

I speculated on the foul nature of any man who could abandon such a dedicated and hardworking spouse.

At one point I argued with myself across four seemingly unrelated accounts about the subject.

I set up a spurious petition to help Madam Spider find her lost love.

I then proceeded to question the ethics of a petition which would result in a double-homicide.

I distracted would-be skeptics with long and pointless arguments which were hardly even tangentially related to the rumor.

I forgot to eat at one point, and was near-delirious after that, to the point I feared I might lose sight of my goal.

But nevertheless, I saw my hard work begin to pay off: one housewife’s idle worrying about whether the spiders in her home were venomous was hijacked by her friends’ gossip of Madam Spider.

“Sounds just like my ex-husband,” quipped one single mother.

Had spiders not already been on the minds of these people, it might have never taken off.

I had no way to know for how long the story would hold traction. But all that matters is that by that Friday, Madam Spider had become a fad.

And that was all I needed.

And just in time.

When I left my hotel, it was awfully cold — in fact, it was so cold it was snowing.

Snowing, in August.

The weather has been terribly strange lately. Some would even say that snow in the Summer is unnatural. There’s nothing at all unnatural about it, really — the weather is the consequence of climatic effects.

I imagine a pressure variation dragged cold air south from the Arctic Circle or something. I wouldn’t know since I’m not a meteorologist, and I don’t really pay much attention to the weather.

Regardless, August snow is a very special event. It couldn’t have happened at a better time for me.

Whether it’s unnatural or not — to the ordinary person, the presence of snow in Summer is an ominous thing.

Fittingly ominous, considering what I planned to do that day.

I made my way to Hiroo.

I specifically took the Hibiya Line from Ginza.

With the sky cloudy and gray, the carefully engineered urban landscape no longer looked so inviting.

Everything was dismal and bleak, and few people were out on the streets.

It seemed the weather was playing havoc on the city.

I made my way to Saitomi’s apartment building, and ascended the steps to the upper entryway.

In hindsight I really don’t know if I ever stopped to think things through or not.

Maybe if I’d thought a little further ahead, I would have realized the entire thing was pointless.

I would have realized there was never a chance for me to succeed in my plan.

Would I have decided to try anyway?

I don’t know.

Probably, actually.

It was Friday.

Friday morning.

There was a breeze in the air.

Snow was falling from an August sky.

And,

Standing before me at the entrance,

There was Kagenui Yozuru.

The modern-day _onmyōji_ was standing on solid ground.

No — not solid.

I remembered then that I had explicitly concluded it wasn’t solid ground on my first visit.

Kagenui was staring at me with rage in her eyes.

The look she gave me stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Kaiki.”

In that moment she was so furious, her gorge so tightly risen that she could barely pronounce my name.

“Hello, Kagenui-san,” I replied, ignoring my climbing heart rate.

“Kaiki,” she repeated my name more clearly, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m visiting Saitomi,” I said, audibly swallowing. “What are you doing here, Kagenui? Didn’t you have a plane to catch?”

“Aye, I did,” she said. “But every flight out of the city was cancelled today on account of the snow.”

“Is that right? It’s most unfortunate, then.”

“It really isn’t, though. I’m glad it ended up this way — because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to stop you.”

“I—” My voice cracked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Gaen rang me earlier to explain what was happening,” she said.

_Fuck._

I knew it.

“If things had been just a little different,” mused Kagenui, “if the weather had been just a little clearer, if I’d been a little slower, then something bad would have happened. Kaiki…”

She glared at me.

“I won’t allow you to turn Saitomi Shiori into a monster.”


	9. 009

Kagenui Yozuru,

Teori Tadatsuru,

Oshino Meme,

Kaiki Deishū,

And Gaen Izuko.

More than ten years ago now, the five of us huddled together in a small room on a cool Summer day, not unlike this one, and were cursed.

On that day over a decade past, the five of us did something worthy of being cursed by the world, irrevocably.

At Gaen’s suggestion, we resurrected a hundred-year-old corpse.

Since the moment that ritual was completed, my life has not known peace.

_ “Why did I agree to do it?” _ I often ask myself this question.

For our participation, each of us were cursed in different ways.

Well, perhaps “curse” is not entirely appropriate. It would be better to say that we were, all five of us,  _ changed. _

You perhaps understand by now that Kagenui and Teori must never again touch the earth.

You are aware of Gaen’s wretched omniscience.

Gaen’s case may not seem like much of a curse at first glance, compared to what Kagenui Yozuru and Teori Tadatsuru have suffered. But Gaen, having wrought the plan to create an oddity, has been given the absolute worst burden of all: insurmountable duty and inescapable causality. Even I must admit that knowledge of fate itself is in many respects a horrific lot in life. 

This is not just limited to Gaen. Kagenui has become hellishly powerful in the time since we created the pseudo- _ tsukumogami _ named Ononoki Yotsugi. And while I never really knew much about him myself, I understand Teori is quite the peculiar, dangerous man these days. Perhaps, rather than having gained might through their curses, Kagenui and Teori have become as mighty of  _ onmyōji _ as they are by overcoming their curses.

The most powerful of curses may appear straightforward, but they are not simple things. They are wrapped in layers of nuance to impact the afflicted and change the course of their lives, irrevocably.

You might say that the simple little curse which affected the middle schooler Sengoku Nadeko was, perhaps, one of the most dire curses of all — for just how many strings of fate did that one evil deed intertwine and strain? Countless, I dare to think.

But what of myself? 

What of Oshino?

How were we affected by the curse?

I’ve wondered about this for quite some time.

When I look at what was left in the wake of Ononoki Yotsugi’s birth, what I did in that time following her creation, and what happened to our clique’s group dynamic — I think I realize a pattern.

Oshino Meme travels the country, never staying in one place.

And I falsified my own death in order to cut my ties to my life as Kaiki Deishū, leaving behind my dearest friends.

Oshino Meme always disappears without saying goodbye, leaving ingratiated locals to rue his absence.

And I always flee retribution, my schemes half-baked, with a trail of outraged victims in my wake; everyone happy to see me go.

Gaen Izuko must forever know the infinite effects of her actions before she even undertakes them, knowing not only the consequences of the choice she will make, but also the consequences of the choices she will not make, and of every spare second of hesitation; she has been robbed of the sense of journey from opportunity to completion.

Kagenui and Teori must never again touch the ground; they have been robbed of opportunity.

And Kaiki Deishū and Oshino Meme must forever wander the earth; we two will ever chase opportunity, but never see our efforts come to fruition.

… But just as Gaen has become all-knowing; just as Kagenui has become almighty… 

… Both Oshino and I have gained something else for our trouble.

I’m not entirely certain what it may be for Oshino, but I most definitely gained something wretched.

Something evil.

You may recall me making use of it,

This  _ “hypnotism,” _ so I called it;

My power to make false oddities.

Last month, that fox-kid said that with every breath I bathe the world in karma. This was only partially correct. It’s not that I bring karma into the world through my every breath — 

My every touch spills karma into the world.

Evil deeds are wrought from evil fingers.

So it is with me.

This is the power I possess.

The direct opposite of Kagenui’s power to destroy evil.

Right here, right now, I swear to you, it’s the real thing.

I lied to Senjougahara Hitagi and Araragi Koyomi when I called it hypnotism.

It’s not hypnotism.

It’s not a trick.

I don’t have vindictive snakes and angry bees and complacent slugs hidden up my sleeves.

In the beginning there is nothing, until I say,  _ “Let there be Evil.” _

And lo, thence cometh evil.

And this is why Kagenui and I arrived at this impasse.

This moment,

Us two former friends, together once more in standoff before Saitomi Shiori’s apartment — 

— This was the culmination of over ten years of failure to resolve our differences.

The bad debt which had piled up in our relationship as former classmates, as colleagues, and as rivals, was being collected.

The battle has been joined.

“Really, when I think about it, Kaiki — I guess I always knew today was an inevitability.”

“What are you getting at, saying such things?” Pitifully, my immediate instinct — my first line of defense when confronted by Kagenui — is to play dumb. “I really don’t know what this is all about, Kagenui. I’m just here to—”

_ “Shut up.” _

She saw through it. 

Just as she always has.

She doesn’t need omniscience to do so, because she understands me.

And because she understands me, she hates me all the more.

“I’m beyond tolerating your flagrant abuses, Kaiki. I always wanted to think that, for all of our differences, we were still friends. Damn you,  _ I respected you. _ ”

I had nothing to say in reply. That probably only made me seem guiltier. But by that point I had already realized there was no chance I could lie my way out of this.

Getting out in one piece was going to require all my tact, and all my resolve.

And instead of tact, I gave her a disparaging tut. “Now from where, pray tell, are you getting all this anger, Kagenui? Could it be you’re upset with me over that stunt with the immortal phoenix last year? I suppose you must want your money back for the little prank I pulled on you.”

“I don’t want money, you dobber,” she snapped, “I want you to see reason for a change! This now is as it always has been. The creation of apparitions is abhorrent, no matter the reasons or the intentions. This attempt to defy the natural order of things cannot be excused. Even if you get past me now, even if you succeed and you do what you intend to do, I will have no choice but to go up there and crush whatever beast you manage to create.”

She stamped her foot down. “Do you understand, Kaiki? I’m here right now because I don’t want to have to kill her later.”

“But Kagenui,” cautiously I took a step forward, “I’m sure you can overlook this case, just this once. It will be a fake oddity, after all — nothing like the real thing. There will be no value in such a forgery, will there?”

She turned her nose up at me.

“The gall of you,” she hissed. “Nay, you were right all along, Kaiki! The fake is as valid as the real thing. Is that what you wanted to hear, all these years? Are you content, hearing it now? Are you happy with yourself? You finally won, I’ve yielded to your goonish philosophical claptrap. People really are all liars at their hearts. Every last person alive is lying to themselves… except me. And that’s why I can’t just stand by and let you go up there and curse Saitomi Shiori. I have to stamp this out before you play party to a tragedy. Stop bringing up your self-indulgent trifles and  _ listen to me! _ ”

“They’re not trifles!” As my nerve rose, so too did my voice. “Past or present, no word I have ever said was self-indulgent. The questions I posed are more important now than ever before. They’re more relevant now than they ever have been. This isn’t about being right or wrong, Kagenui. I’m content with being wrong. This is about human lives!”

Everything about this hurt.

I guess that’s why we’ve put it off all these years.

“But you… you call what I’m doing ‘a tragedy’? What about what you’re doing right now? You say these apparitions are an affront to nature. Well I don’t care about them. Not in the slightest. I say the real aberration is rolling over and surrendering to death.”

She balled her fists tight. She could have struck at any moment.

She would really kill me.

I wouldn’t have an opportunity to even try to hypnotize her.

She wouldn’t fall for that.

“You haven’t the foggiest idea what’s going on here,” she growled. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t,” I told her, plainly. “But Kagenui, you know what you’re doing. After all, you’ve seen for yourself: a so-called monster living a lie, with a loving family. You’ve met people willing to knowingly embrace the aberrant.”

“And you?” asked Kagenui. “Would you accept Saitomi Shiori as a monster?”

“I wouldn’t,” I said. I didn’t even need to think about it. “Because whether or not she were a monster, I am as poison to her. I can never accept her love. And that’s how it should be.”

Against my better judgement, I took another step.

“‘Between the genuine article and an identical fake, which has greater value?’ It was never about one being more than the other.” 

Further contrary to my survivability, I said this.

“Identity is an utterly worthless way to measure the world around us — because only we decide for ourselves what is truly worthwhile. So what if you think this or that is fake? If we decide for ourselves that it has value, it has value. Do you know what I said to Yoshinari Kaede? Do you know what I said to Sengoku Nadeko?” 

Kagenui was dead silent. But still, she was ready to strike.

She was letting me have my final words.

But that’s fine.

“I said there is nothing more valuable than life itself. I said that as long as we are alive, we can go on changing who we are, and what we’re doing, and where we’re going. People aren’t doomed to one fate or the other. We can decide for ourselves what has value. Nobody else can do that. In the face of that precious thing called life, right and wrong is irrelevant. It’s all we have. And I can think of nothing more evil than taking that away.”

“So, what? You think that, right now, you’re some sort of tether by which Saitomi Shiori clings to life?”

She seemed to relax, but still she didn’t falter.

“I’m nothing more than a fake,” I said. I don’t think she appreciated that. So I continued: “All this ultimately amounts to is me quelling whatever guilt I might feel in me. And then I can leave.”

“And then the next time you feel that guilt, you’ll do some other reckless thing.” Kagenui shook her head. “You know what the worst thing about playing you in shōgi is?”

“I really don’t care.”

I didn’t have the guts to say that. It was probably a bad lie anyway.

When I didn’t answer, she continued.

“You don’t know how to just give up when you’re losing.”

She sighed.

“It’s the most infuriating thing in the world. You’re so damn disrespectful that it hurts… you and Oshino both. You cling to your little half-truths and your malformed arguments. But it’s really all you have to your name, and you fight tooth and nail for it.

“You know what I’m going to say, Kaiki.” She was right about that. “You said it yourself — we have no right to dictate for others what is right and wrong. Only we can know what is right for ourselves. But I know for myself: no aberration is completely safe. No matter how helpful they may be at the moment, no matter how docile, they can change with the tide of human reason. Maybe Saitomi will be happy now. But what about when she finds out what you’ve done to her? Will she be grateful? Or will she be mortified? When rumors begin to spread, will she be able to stay who she is, or will she begin to lose her true form? It won’t be a life she lives; it will be an existence. She’ll exist dependent on the whims of others. And someone, somewhere, will end up hurt someday. Do you really believe things are better that way?”

“I do.”

She let out the emptiest laugh I’ve ever heard in my life.

_ Ha. _

“And then, will you plan to take responsibility for that?”

“I won’t.”

Now, at least, she sincerely chuckled.

“Whether you had answered in the affirmative or not, I would still have to remind you: I can’t stand down.”

“And neither can I, Kagenui.”

And that’s how it should be.

“I suppose you can’t.”

The stance she took was nothing short of dangerous.

If there were a way to threaten another person with every limb at the same time, then her stance in that moment was definitely it.

The hour of my execution was at hand.

I don’t think we ever had learned how to agree with one another.

But we did respect each other.

But at that moment, as she prepared to launch herself through me and end my life,

Her phone rang.

She relaxed her posture, turned away, and answered.

Without even greeting the person on the other line, she listened.

It was Gaen.

Had to be.

But why?

Had Gaen not told her about what I was doing?

After a few seconds, Kagenui closed her eyes.

“Understood.”

Definitely Gaen.

I guess there has been a stay of execution.

She ended the call, and turned to me.

“Someone has begged for your life.”

Someone?

Are we not talking about Gaen?

Or is Gaen acting as intermediary for someone else?

Saitomi.

It’s definitely Saitomi.

Begging for her own life, more like.

That Gaen would acquiesce to her is remarkable news, but somehow not comforting. It means Gaen has something else in mind.

“You know, Kaiki, nothing hurt me more than seeing you and Oshino slip away, back then.” 

She looked defeated all of a sudden. 

“Watching our little club split up… I don’t know. I guess I wanted that to last forever. But it couldn’t have ever been that way, could it?”

“Would that it could have,” I said, speaking softly.

“Don’t lie.” She chuckled. “You hated my guts. And I guess I hated yours.”

“Indeed you did.”

We both agreed to maintain that particular fib, together.

She stretched. “I have to go find a new plane. Do what you will. From this day, until the end of our days, we are enemies.”

She started to walk past me, hopping onto the stair railing beside me.

“Just don’t make a hash of this.”

“I’ll try.”

She hopped away, onto a street pole.

As I began to walk,

“One more thing,” she shouted back at me.

I turned around.

She was making a shape with her pinky and her thumb, like a phone.

“Keep your ringer on!”

“I will,” I called back.

“Let me see you do it!”

I pulled out my phone, and turned the volume up until she could hear the noise.

She laughed. “That’s good,” she said. “Farewell, Kaiki.”

I didn’t say anything back.

I knew we would meet again someday.

No sense in trying to pretend otherwise.

But I’ll be lucky to receive this sort of clemency again.

Forget Madam Spider, Kagenui will be the one to kill me.

Finally,

I approached the lobby doors of Saitomi’s apartment building.

I suppose Kagenui was right: I really wasn’t capable of admitting defeat.

She had her reasons for standing in my way, and they were infallible reasons. But I can’t stand that sort of thinking for a minute.

Nobody should be absolutely certain about their convictions.

We should always give ourselves room for mistakes.

To that end, maybe she was completely right, and I was completely wrong. But it didn’t mean I was going to just sit and do as she said.

Because I made a promise.

Just kidding. That’s a terrible reason to do something like this.

Especially when doing so puts you on the firing line.

I just didn’t want her to win, is all it is, really.

Really, that’s all.

So I won — by default, I guess, since she capitulated there, even if it was a decision from the referee. But at what cost?

Well, as I reached for the door handle, my phone rang… loudly. The noise bounced around in the entryway.

I had a mind to not answer. But if I didn’t, Kagenui would probably come back and kick me in half.

I didn’t recognize the number.

I never do when it comes from Gaen.

Oh well.

Resigned to her harrying, I hit ‘answer’.

“Hello,” I grumbled.

“Hello-hello, Kaiki-san!”

The voice on the other end was not Gaen.

And it wasn’t Saitomi, either.

It was some boy.

Chipper and cheery, to the point it made me sick.

I really don’t know his name, and I don’t think I ever will.


	10. 010

“Well this is quite a surprise.”

For the first time in a long time, I actually meant that.

Whoever this person is.

Or no, that’s a lie. No, I didn’t mean it.

“Mmh-hm!” was the boy’s response. “It truly is a surprise, Kaiki-san. I bet you’re quite surprised. You thought you’d get a call from that Gaen lady — but actually you got a call from a fox!”

“A fox?” I said, foolishly inviting further conversation with whoever this kid was. “I thought foxes weren’t supposed to be able to answer the phone correctly.”

“Oh, you’re right!” He exclaimed. “In that case, I didn’t say ‘hello-hello’ when you picked up. I actually said ‘hewwo-hewwo’ instead!”

_ Kekeke. _

Such a rambunctious attitude.

There was some chatter and chiming coming through from their end. Things seemed busy for him, wherever he was.

“You know, I really can’t stand this sort of mischief,” I complained. “And what’s that noise in the background? Are you in a hospital?”

“Yup! Still in the mental health ward,” said the boy. “The nurses tell me I probably won’t be allowed to leave for a couple months yet. Still have to make sure I’m healthy and stable.”

“Is that so,” I leaned against the wall, having not yet bothered to enter the apartment building. Somehow, talking to this punk, I had lost all sense of the urgency which drove me to be so rough with Kagenui. “You’re missing out on a lot of school then. You’ll have to work hard when you get out, but I’m sure the teachers will be understanding of the situation. I hope things are going well for you there, at least.”

“Oh, it’s terrible!” he said this, but his tone was still bright and warm. “It’s humiliating being in here. The doctors are all stubborn and they keep asking the same condescending questions everyday. Ever since that stunt I pulled when I first arrived, the one where I went to go see your train leave? They’ve kept me in a room with a wire screen over the windows, and an orderly checks in on what I’m doing every hour. I heard they used to have bars on the windows in wards like this, but they apparently removed them back in the 80’s because it was too inhumane. If it were just bars I could probably squeeze through because of how thin I am.”

“That is a little alarming to hear,” I told him. “It does sound rough, but the hospital staff are only doing their jobs. They’re trying to make sure no harm comes to you through their negligence. So try not to resent them too much.”

“Yeah, I won’t.” It sounded like he was brushing off my advice. I only say all that because I’m worried, you know. “At least my folks visit everyday. Sometimes a friend or two from school shows up and we talk for a bit. But I only get to make calls outside after 9:00 in the morning. Speaking of, Kaiki-san — I heard you would have to go through some stuff because of that. I’m real sorry!”

What exactly did he mean, “go through some stuff”?

Then, with a jolt of realization, I went to look at my watch.

Realizing I wasn’t wearing a watch, I checked my phone instead:

It said 9:07.

I looked to where Kagenui had been standing.

You can’t be serious…

“You said ‘that Gaen lady’ a minute ago,” I carefully noted. “But I don’t seem to remember ever mentioning her to you before. Moreover, I don’t recall ever giving you my number, or your parents for that matter.”

Not that you would know what I’m talking about.

We’ve never discussed where I met this boy.

And we never will.

You’ll just have to never know who they are, because I won’t say.

It’s safer that way.

“Oh, no! You didn’t. Gaen-san has visited me a bunch in the last couple weeks. I didn’t know who she was before, but apparently my folks might have known her from college or something. And when she said she was your friend, I had to see her! When she came to visit me earlier this week, she gave me your card and told me to call you today, first thing in the morning, and to talk with you. But when I explained to her that I couldn’t make a call before 9:00, you know what she said? Do you know? She said something like, ‘Don’t worry about that. Call at 9-o-clock, and  I’ll make sure he is available.’”

I’ll make sure he’s available.

I looked up at the snowy sky.

And then back at the street poles.

And then I looked back where I had stood, blocked by Kagenui.

_ … He’s available. _

What is Gaen’s angle in all of this?

Is this to slow me down?

Is she trying to stop me from helping Saitomi?

Why not just have Kagenui kill me, though?

“Um, Kaiki-san?”

“Sorry, I was just taking in all of that,” I assuringly said. “Well, it wasn’t too much of a problem, ultimately. Did Gaen have anything she wanted you to tell me?”

“Not at all,” said the boy. “She only said to just chat with you for a bit.”

“No instructions other than that, whatsoever?”

“None.”

Alright.

Something is wrong here.

But still, I’m glad this boy is doing well.

Whoever he is.

Forget what I said earlier. We’ve never met before, me and this boy.

This is all a lie, this conversation. It never happened, and I am just telling you all about it so you can think I’m actually a better person than I am.

Please, do not go inquiring after this boy.

Leave him alone.

That goes for you, as well as Gaen, too.

“I know I’ve said it’s all awful here right now,” the boy started to speak again, “and it is. But you know what, Kaiki-san? You know what? I’m glad I’m still here.”

I winced.

Once more, talking with this boy I don’t know, I’m left speechless.

“Life is hard, and full of suffering. The world may in fact be nothing but suffering. Some days, it just look like it’s getting worse and worse. So why do people bother living? I don’t entirely know just yet.

“Maybe things will only get harsher for me when I’m out of the hospital. Maybe my friends won’t accept me. I bet I’ll be alone a while. And it’ll be a burden on my family. And I’ll probably have to fight to be who I want to be… maybe for as long as I’m alive. At the end of the day, people are people, and people suck. 

“But Kaiki-san, all that can change, just like we can change. At the end of the day, people can always change. Because nothing, nobody decides who we are —  nobody, except for ourselves; because our identities aren’t things we can permanently trap into one form or the other with words. I am just myself, and you are just yourself.”

I must have made them tremendously uncomfortable, with how quiet I was being. So I spoke up, just to confirm I was still listening.

“You’re right,” I croaked. “Well-said.”

“Kaiki-san,” said the boy, “I don’t think I had a chance to say this before: Thank You. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”

It’s strange, hearing someone say that again.

Makes me feel ill.

I don’t want your thanks.

You shouldn’t give them to someone like me.

I’m not some good person.

I went inside.

“Don’t talk as if everything in life will be hardship,” I said this as I climbed the stairs to Saitomi’s floor. “There are plenty of things to enjoy — like grilled meat, or sugary sweets, or video games. You just need a little money first.”

_ Keke! _

“You’re right, you’re right, Kaiki-san! Maybe I need to remember there is always good stuff to enjoy alongside the bad.”

“Just don’t develop too much of a sweet-tooth. It isn’t healthy for you. But then again, what is?”

Once more he laughed at this.

“Speaking of happy things, Kaiki-san — I’ve been putting a lot of thought into a name change for when I’m older. You want to hear some of my ideas?”

“No, absolutely not,” I said, quickly. “If you mention your name right now, then you run the risk of being swept up in some new, tragic misadventure later.”

Talking to me right now is already too much.

Let this kid have some peace and quiet. That’s all I ask.

Tempting fate, the boy replied, “That does sound fun, though.”

“I can assure you, it isn’t.”

“I’ll take your advice, then. Anyway, I’m sorry to have spent so much time talking,” the boy said. “Whatever it is you’re doing right now, I hope it goes well. I won’t keep you much longer — that was really all I wanted to say… besides, the head nurse is looking at me funny.”

“It’s not a problem to me. I’m only paying a visit to Saitomi. After that I’m going to go some other place. Who knows where.”

“Auntie Shiori?”

The boy made a strange, confused sound at this.

“Yes, her. Though as I recall, you aren’t related by blood, nor by marriage for that matter. I suppose she’s something like a family friend, then. Ah, I suppose I never explained — Saitomi Shiori and I went to college together… we were good friends. Or something like that. But I guess she told you about that, too, didn’t she?”

I arrived at Saitomi’s floor.

In a suddenly hushed voice, the boy asked, “Kaiki-san, that reminds me: who was with you when you were visiting my town?”

Hm?

What sort of ridiculous question is that?

“Saitomi,” I replied. “She was the one who asked me to intervene. In fact, she was rather instrumental in figuring out the problem. She told me you had a very important conversation a year back or so.”

I arrived at Saitomi’s apartment.

“Kaiki-san, that’s…”

The boy paused for a moment.

And I unlocked the door.

“That is, I had that conversation with Auntie Shiori in the hospital, when I came to visit her last year,” said the boy. “That’s where she told me all about you. And I asked her for her advice on my problem. How did you know all of that?”

The hospital?

How long had Saitomi been ill?

I suppose a while, based on all the papers she had accumulated.

“She told me as much,” I explained, turning the doorknob, “when we were together last month.”

“That’s not possible.”

Alarmed, the boy blurted out, 

“Kaiki-san, Auntie Shiori is dead.” 

 

Saitomi Shiori 

Died 

A year ago.

That’s what the boy said to me.

 

I

 

“I have to go,” I said. “Get well soon. Goodbye.”

I rudely hung up.

I stepped into the apartment.

I took my shoes off.

And then I entered the spider’s web.


End file.
